


Candy Man

by paperwhite



Series: Some Little Infamy [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Crowley and Feelings, F/M, Food Sex, Hungry Crowley, Sex God Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:04:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperwhite/pseuds/paperwhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader takes a sojourn into Hell.  Crowley is airing out his various kinks.  Also being emotionally honest.  Possibly only to his overcoat.  Celebrating Crowley's victory, a romp in the King's chambers.</p><p>This particular interlude will be featured in the upcoming multi-chapter fic "The Stars Will Shake (or What Crowley Did on His Summer Vacation)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Man

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely crowley-king-of-the-trunk.tumblr.com.
> 
> Inspired by the ongoing eyesex Mark Sheppard bequeaths to his fans. 
> 
> Also, this fic is a bit more adult than the rest in the series. It contains themes of BDSM, bondage, fetishes, salty language, and possible monster sex. 
> 
> You're welcome.
> 
> Want some music to read this to? The author recommends "Candy Man" by Christina Aguilera, and "I Alone" by Live.

With a graceless flop, you fell onto the silk-clad bed that sat in a shadowy corner of Crowley’s palace in Hell. Abaddon was dead, and Crowley’s faithful had been celebrating. You had consented to descend to Hell for the festivities, taking the chance to thank those who had been loyal. And to devise punishments for those whose conviction had been found lacking. The howls of those who had backed the seditious Knight of Hell filled the winding corridors. 

But unlike demons, you were a human who needed sleep. Sweaty and exhausted, you debated moving enough to pull the sheets over you, but weariness won. Closing your eyes, the sound of the door opening was heard, startling you awake. Even footfalls scraping lightly down the three steps into the sunken chamber. 

“I thought you’d be at it for days,” you murmur, not bothering to open your eyes.

“Oh, I’m still at it, lover,” Crowley purrs. His hands run over your abdomen, pressing down, over your hip bones, and circling your thighs. His strong hands rub at your legs, making you groan.

You laugh, and then sigh contentedly.

“My King. Hell is yours.”

You feel the scratch of his stubble against your arm, nipping at your fingertips, moving slowly up your arm, until you can feel his fluttering kisses against your shoulder. "Every. Last. Brick," he growls satisfactorily.

“You smell like cloves,” as you turn your head, placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“I got a massage. And I was summoned by the Winchesters.”

You congratulate yourself on having your eyes closed, sparing you the effort of rolling them.

“Why do you keep answering?”

“Oh my dear…grand things are about to happen. Things that make me very optimistic for the future.”

At this, you pop one eye open to look at him. A giant grin is spread across his face, eyes alight with mischief.

“What things?”

“Right now, I’m continuing my celebratory feast.” Crowley explains languidly, and continues his trail of kisses across your shoulder blades.

You lick your lips, opening your arms to him as he settles above you. Sneaking his leg between your thighs, making room for himself as he runs the tip of his nose against your collarbone, following it with a lick of his tongue. 

“You smell of blood,” he whispers. Tongue chasing the tang of copper and salt on your skin. 

“An enclave of _mazikin_ needed to be dealt with.”

Crowley stops, watching you intently.

“You drew blood for me?” he asks carefully.

Running your fingertips through his short hair, you nod. “I hung their corrupted essence on hooks of iron over the gates to the fifth circle.”

Crowley falls upon you with renewed gusto, now biting at the skin against your throat and groaning satisfactorily. His hands run up your thighs, pulling your dress as he goes. Sliding it over your waist, your breasts, and finally parting his lips from your skin long enough to pull it off.

“Stand up,” he orders, lust and determination in his eyes as he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you up before you can even comply. You fall against him, underwear and heels still left on you as he pulls you closer to a balcony that overlooks one of the pits. His abode in Hell conveyed all the luxuries a ruler should possess, including a place to survey his kingdom. A balustrade of wrought glass surrounds you, but heavy curtains are there to ensure privacy and now they are closed to any activity outside. But the area is suffused with an eerie red light. His hand is tight on your arm, pulling you towards the edge.

“Leg up,” he orders, tapping your knee on the leg closest to the balcony. You hear him undoing his belt buckle, his mouth latching onto your shoulder from behind, biting into it gently. You cry out, back arching. He slides your underwear down past your feet, kicking them aside as you step out of them. You feel Crowley pick up your leg, and before you can process it, your leg is strapped to the ledge of the balcony, knee bent. You struggle to balance on one foot, before your arms are pulled behind your back. The silk of his tie winds its way around your elbows, fastened tightly. The position forces your back to arch, hips out to keep steady. 

Crowley’s hand latches around your throat, pulling your head back to rest on his shoulder as he nuzzles your hair, whispering in your ear, “Isn’t this better, poppet? No more running. No more stolen thrusts against an alley wall. I can keep you here forever now.” His hand tightens only a moment before disappearing, you can feel it trailing down your spine, before circling around and back up, clever fingers finding their way to your nipple and giving it a tweak.

“My coronation feast was interrupted earlier. I didn’t even get to the dessert course.”

His hand is before you once more, pressing a piece of what follows to be dark chocolate past your lips. You begin to chew the piece, eyes watching him in the low light as he comes around to face you. His mouth is open and exhaling deep, amorous breaths. Licking his lips while caressing your cheeks. Turning his attention to your mouth, he surprises you as he pinches in at your jaw, forcing your mouth open. Crowley snakes his tongue into your mouth, swirling the chocolate around between you both. He mingles the sweet between both your tongues, flicking the bittersweet chocolate on your tongue, then his as it melts. You gasp at the sensuality of it, Crowley moaning his approval as he chases rogue bits of chocolate against your lips, still holding your mouth open. Licking his way across your lips, he smears a bit of chocolate against your cheek before suckling it off again. Slipping a finger inside your mouth, across your tongue before withdrawing, you can hear him sucking his own finger against your ear. 

Flicking your earlobe with his tongue, he breathes out a longing moan. His hands run up your sides, smooth and almost fluid against your heated skin. Cupping your breasts in his hands, he lowers his head and latches his mouth onto a nipple. He suckles vigorously, tormenting it between his teeth. Letting your head fall back, swallowing the lingering remnants of chocolate from your mouth. You know that your breasts will be red from his attentions. Laving your nipple before granting it one last bite, he weighs your breasts in his hand and pinches the underside of one. 

A knowing smile flits across his face as he unbuttons his shirt. Unable to do anything but watch, still precariously balanced on one foot as he lets his black shirt fall to the floor. Undoing his trousers, he steps out of them, toeing them out of the way. His cock is already hard, flushed and red at the tip. In a moment he is at your lips again, tongue working their way across them and into your mouth. You can feel the tip teasing at your entrance. In a futile effort, you try and angle your hips to give him leave to enter. But he just steps back, grinning and moving behind you. For a minute, all you can hear is shuffling behind you, and his belabored breaths.

Crowley’s hand is on your ass, kneading the soft flesh, his mouth placing feather-soft kisses along your shoulder blades, moving methodically from one side to the other.

“Show me how badly you want daddy.” And he steps closer behind you, feeling his cock slide against your slit.

You arch your back, rubbing your wetness on his cock. Whimpering in your frustration as the angle seems to be impossible. Only his head is rubbing against you, flush against your clit, giving it a hint of pleasure.

“Come on, kitten. Fuck yourself on me.” Crowley’s stubble is a patch of ever increasing stimulation against your spine as he licks a stripe up your back.

Pushing yourself back against him, you almost howl in irritation. He lets it continue, sliding your wet folds against his hard length. Rolling your hips, desperate for a way to work him inside. His happy groans fill your ear as you bend and contort, every effort counteracted by him. Chuckling to himself, he takes a step back.

A crack echoes in the gloom, a flash of pain against your ass as he spanks you again and again, until your body is torn between trying to push yourself onto him and trying to escape. After a baker’s dozen, he ends it as abruptly as he started, raking his nails across your reddened cheeks. You feel him loosen the belt that’s holding you to the balcony. Almost toppling, as your arms are still tied, Crowley catches you. Tracing kisses across your eyebrows as he reaches behind you to remove his tie, letting it fall to the floor. 

Immediately your hands come up to grip at his cheeks, pulling him towards your lips. He croons into your mouth, kissing you unhurriedly. His flesh nudges against your belly, still hard and smearing wetness across you. Tilting his head back, he rumbles “Go lay on the bed.”

You cross the room shakily, kicking your shoes off as you go. Spreading yourself upon the silk sheets, the canopy of the bed fills your vision before turning your attention to Crowley’s activities. He is reaching into a bag hidden in his coat pocket. Swinging what seems to be a pink cloud towards you, he even flutters his eyelashes as he looks at you. 

“Spread your legs for me. Dessert’s not over.”

You do as your bid, parting your knees as he climbs between. Reaching into the cloud, realization dawns as he pulls off a piece of cotton candy. Lying down on his stomach, he places the pink confection on your mound. 

“Crowley…” you murmur, watching him intently.

“You would deny your king?” he asks teasingly.

“Never.” And just a bit of a promise seems to find its way into your words. For a brief moment, Crowley seems to acknowledge every emotion you tried to convey with those two simple syllables. Impulsively, he grabs your hand, placing a fervent kiss on it before letting it drop and parting your knees wider. Bending his neck, he pulls at a bit of the spun sugar, letting it dissolve on his tongue as he holds your wrists.

The sight is the most hedonistic thing you have ever witnessed. As he buries his head between your legs, you feel his teeth pulling at the floss, its sticky texture tickling your already wet flesh. Finding your clitoris, he laps at it again and again, sugary liquid dissipating between his tongue and the little nub. Your hands ball themselves into fists as you squirm under Crowley. Pitilessly he continues, his thumbs rubbing circles onto the skin of your hands. You can feel teeth lightly scraping against your clit as he sucks it into his mouth, his beard pinking the inside of your thighs. And something else too. 

The fiery tint and heavy sulfur of the air could have been playing tricks on you, but you know that Crowley’s tongue has never been forked, and his eyes have taken on the look of glowing coals. It was as if a hallucination materialized within a dream, but some logical part of your brain not thoroughly quieted by your activities knew that Hell was revealing Its true nature underneath. His shadow seemed to grow below you. And then he iss reaching for more of the cotton candy, and this time you feel his finger enter you, or was it a claw?, pushing the sugar inside. Pulling your hips down lower, and pressing your legs up and back, his tongue enters you. Swirling and coaxing the swiftly melting patch out, he drinks greedily. Finally raising his head to bite harshly on your inner thigh, a hand releases your wrist and travels up your abdomen. 

You run your hand along his forearm, the skin burning hot and almost leathery. Pushing himself up to balance on top of you, he sinks his cock inside you, until your thighs burn from the stretch. Crowley looms over you, plunging frantically. Beads of sweat fall from his forehead, and you marvel at the curve of his brow, running your fingertips over the furrows, the moans escaping your mouth are beyond your reckoning. And his match yours, an unhinged howling that drives you to meet his body with yours. He stops for a moment, bending, latching a leg of yours around his arm and pushing himself back up, opening you wider, and he continues his frenzied thrusts. After a series of short, stabbing entries you wail your orgasm. Clutching his body, panting, almost blind from it, you dig your fingernails into his back, next to what you swear are wings. Black, leathery bat wings that you dream send feathers into the air.

He quickly follows, slamming into you until the wooden bed frame creaks its’ displeasure. Taking deep lungs full of air he collapses onto his elbows, resting his brow on your chest. “I always mean to do more with you. Fuck you a certain way, make you beg for it…” as he licks at your nipple again. You sigh your approval, running your hands through his hair, holding him to you.

He looks up, so boyish in that instant, and smiles. Not a trace of nightmare anywhere on him. Only the comforting presence of Crowley. Reaching to a bedside table, he then sets an earthenware plate of fruit on the bed. Picking up a slice of apple, swirling it in the honey that is smeared on the plate, and puts it to your lips. You munch hungrily, honey and juice coating your lips as he kisses the excess. Selecting a dewy green grape next, he holds it to his own mouth, biting the grape until it’s held there, and you raise your head, sealing your teeth over the grape and pulling, taking half. Crowley snaps the other half between his teeth, chewing thoughtfully. 

“Stay down here for a while longer,” he frames it as an off-hand command, but his eyes watch carefully.

You smile, picking up a wedge of pear, offering it up to his lips. He takes it, nipping at your fingertip as you linger against his cheek.

“You are my own Persephone, after all” he offers, radiating contentment. He lays his head back against the pillows, arms behind his head.

“Shall I only come and see you in the winter, then?” you ask, head falling against the pillows, facing him.

“Move to Antarctica, and I’ll agree.” He chuckles.

Smiling gently, you move the plate aside, running your nails along his chest. 

“I’ve a mind to get the chains and keep you…” he counters, his hand gripping your arm.

You are just about to agree with that plan when the door opens, one of the many demons you have come to recognize during your stay running in.

In a moment, all playfulness is shed. You sit up, alarmed. Crowley is on his feet, pulling his dressing gown on.

“What is it?” he snarls. The demon flashes a dangerous smile.

“Dean Winchester is dead.” The demon pauses. “And is in one of the entrance halls.”

Crowley looks to you with unholy glee. You give him an amused glance in return.

“Thank you,” you address the demon. “The King will be along shortly.” Crowley’s stance on your presence here must be widely known, for the demon does not hesitate at you giving it an order, but leaves, rushing out. Crowley is dressing, the usual black dress shirt and trousers. His coat. Mussing his hair in the mirror.

“How do I look,” he asks. “Bedraggled?”

You laugh loudly. “Positively forlorn.”

He walks to the side of the bed, kissing you soundly on the lips. Flicking his tongue quickly. Letting your hair thread through his fingers.

“Wish me luck. I’ve a new hound to break.” He surveys his work, your body a pliant invitation in his bed. “Don’t leave until I come back. Don’t…don’t leave.” He meets your eyes, watching as you wordlessly agree.

You raise your eyebrows, shaking your head as you watch him saunter out the door, a bounce in his step, whistling a tune.


End file.
